


dynasty (all i gave you is gone, tumbled like it was stone)

by babblekween



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Character Death(s), Gen, Original Child Characters, Sara Diggle deserved better, Sara Diggle doesn't get erased from existence, So did Laurel Lance, Star City 2046 was caused by Flashpoint, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babblekween/pseuds/babblekween
Summary: “I tried,” Charlotte vows, and it’s true. “God,” She sobs, voice ragged, “You know I’ve tried everything,” Charlotte stakes a deep, shuddering breath as she wipes away her tears with the back of her sleeve. “I can travel back and make it so none of this ever happens. I know Uncle Barry changed the timeline and I know he did it before I was born. That’s when I’m going to travel back to,” The lump suddenly returns in Charlotte’s throat and fresh tears stream down her face when she adds, “But I’m not going to tell you who I am.”Or: Barry's Flashpoint universe screws up more than he ever could have imagined and, in order to save the future, Charlotte Queen travels back in time to 2015.





	1. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FACE CLAIM:** [[C A S T]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/dynasty)

**2046.**

Charlotte Queen, one of the last surviving members of the Queen family, walks into what remains of the bunker and her heart clenches as a lifetime of memories wash over her. Birthdays celebrated with Team Arrow. Her father hoisting her up into his arms at five-years-old when she wanted to try the salmon ladder. Kissing Uncle Digg’s boo-boos to make them better before carefully covering them with Incredible Hulk band-aids. Listening to the comms alongside her mother. Rene playfully calling her parent’s _mom_ and _dad._ Chasing Curtis with Dinah’s staff in her tiny hands.

That was all _before_.

Before the Uprising split her life into _before_ and _after_.

It's been 15 years since the Uprising tore through Star City.

Charlotte blinks away the tears because it will do her no good to break down now, and then she walks further into the bunker, slowing to a stop in front of the empty cases that once proudly displayed her family's crime-fighting suits. _“_ _Identity concealment,”_ Uncle Digg moaned every time someone (usually Rene) called it a costume, _“It's not a costume.”_   Each of them is covered with layers of dust now.

Charlotte feels a queasy sinking in her stomach.

Sometimes Charlotte can’t believe what’s become of her home.

Star City was never supposed to fall into chaos. Star City was supposed to stand together, _united_ , just like her father always dreamed it would. It's horrible, so horrible, but there are times Charlotte's  _relieved_ that her father died during Grant Wilson's Uprising because it would break his heart, she knows, to see what has become of his city in his absence.

Which is why she is going to travel back; why she is going to _change_ it.

A delicate diamond arrow bracelet ( _the last gift she received from her father_ ) encircles her wrist and serves as a constant reminder of why she’s doing this. Going back in time, changing the past, Charlotte knows it has to be done, but there are still people _here_ , in this time, that she loves. People that she has sworn to protect.

William, her beloved brother.

Connor, her best friend in life.

And then there’s—

There’s a small crash, then a curse and Charlotte’s mouth curves into a sad smile.

She turns and there, on the platform, is her cousin Robbie. He’s sitting at the old conference table, a portable work light illuminating his work area as he hunches over the table, working absently on the device that will send her back to 2015. He's no longer the gap-toothed little boy she remembers from her childhood, he’s older now, he’s 25, and he looks so much like Uncle Roy that sometimes it physically pains her to look at him.

Charlotte watches him and feels a stab of sadness.

She _hates_ to leave him behind, but he can’t come with her.

Star City is dangerous in 2046, but time travel is a different kind of danger.

It breaks her heart to leave him behind, but she must believe that William, that _Connor_ , will look after Robbie. Not that Robbie _needs_ someone to look after him, Charlotte knows. Robbie is as stubborn as his father and as strong as his mother. He’ll be fine, even it’s through sheer force of will. He’s a Queen, after all.  _("Queen? Not Harper?" Charlotte's father questioned the first time his nephew was placed in his arms, but Uncle Roy shook his head and said, "Technically, Roy Harper died in Iron Heights. To the rest of the world, I'm Jason Roy Booth. The name Booth has no meaning to me, but you guys— you, Thea, even Moira —have been more of a family to me than my folks ever were. If my children can't have my name, I want them to have the Queen name.")_

Robbie hisses and scowls down at the device.

When Charlotte came to the realization that the fight had to be fought in the past, not the present, she had reached out to Cisco Ramon. He’d been a friend of her parents; one of her Uncle Barry’s partners. And, after a lecture about the dangers of time travel, featuring a lot of outdated references Charlotte _knows_ her mother and Uncle Curtis would have understood, Cisco finally agreed.

 _“You’re going to do this with or without my help,”_ Cisco had grumbled before heading to the drawing board. He hasn’t been the same since he lost his hands ( _Charlotte knows it was during a fight with the metahuman known as Killer Frost, but that’s all she knows because as a child no one ever wanted to answer her questions and it always broke her heart when she saw how sad they looked when she asked about Killer Frost_ ) but he’s as intelligent as ever.

In the end, Cisco drew inspiration from a fax machine while Robbie acted as his hands, and together they crafted the device that will send her back in time.  It’s small, designed to look like a medallion, one that will rest at the hollow of her throat like a necklace. Still, regardless of how brilliant Cisco Ramon is, even now, Charlotte knows Robbie would never let her use a piece of tech without going over it himself.

Robbie’s smart in the way her mother was smart.

Charlotte tilts her head to the side, “Hey.”

Robbie jerks and looks up, blue eyes wide and startled, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s Charlotte, “Hey. Connor came by looking for you,” He leans back in the battered chair, stretching. “He wasn’t happy to find out you went out— and _‘by her goddamned self’_ ,” Robbie says in a fair approximation of their friend’s voice, and then he straightens in the chair, reaching for the device once more.

Charlotte shakes her head, her blonde wig falling in waves around her shoulder, and smiles as she wanders over to stand beside Robbie. “Connor is _so totally_ Uncle Digg’s son,” Charlotte muses, lips twitching as she leans back against the table, her thigh brushing against his shoulder as she peers down at him, amusement plain.

Robbie snorts, “He’s a worrywart, you mean.”

She gives him a crooked grin, “Isn’t that what I said?” She asks, teasing, and then she drops a grease-stained paper bag onto the table after ensuring nothing of value is in the way because she knows how _hissy_ her cousin is about his tech. “Falafel,” Charlotte explains when he glances at her, brows furrowed, then she hoists herself up onto the desk and removes mask and her wig, revealing her natural dark hair before she retrieves her own pita pocket from the bag.

“Where were you anyway?” Robbie asks with a mouthful of food.

“I heard some rumors that Kali was operating out of Starling Bay. It was solid intel, but it ended up being a bust.” Charlotte ignores the way Robbie’s eyes flash when she mentions Kali ( _like Killer Frost, Kali is a villain that was once a friend; once family_ ) and adds, “I figured I’d make the trip worth it by grabbing us some food.”

Robbie does look at her now, eyes flashing, “You went after her without back-up? Without Connor?” He demands, angry, “What if she’d actually been there?”

She tilts her chin in an impossibly brave way, an action she can vividly remember her mother executing when she’d been convinced Charlotte’s father had his head up his ass. “If she'd actually been there, Connor would have been nothing more than a liability,” Charlotte defends, “Because Connor _still_ believes the person she used to be is still in there somewhere.”

Robbie looks like he wants to argue with her, but he can’t.

“I had things handled,” Charlotte continues, “There was no need to call in Connor.”

Robbie scowls at her, then says, “There was _every_ need. He should have had your back, _Canary_.” He spits her code-name like an insult and Charlotte straightens her back in response. She was barely eighteen when she donned the familiar black mask and took up the mantle of Black Canary, the third to hold the title, while Connor took up her father's mantle of Green Arrow.

Because Star City will _always_ need the Green Arrow and Black Canary.

That’s why Charlotte needs to travel back in time to 2015.

Before the Uprising, Deathstroke, and Kali are unleashed on Star City.

Before Star City loses its heroes and stops believing in a future where they stand united.

Charlotte needs to travel back before Barry Allen ever has the chance to screw up the future. 

 

* * *

  

Charlotte fiddles with her delicate diamond arrow bracelet as she stares down at the headstones.

It has been months, if not years since she last visited their graves, but she’s leaving tomorrow, and she needs to say goodbye.

It breaks her heart to see their graves desecrated but it doesn’t surprise her like it should.

Star City had a lot of hatred for Oliver Queen _and_ the Green Arrow after the Uprising, but Charlotte feels overcome with emotion at the sight all the same.

She takes a deep breath. “Hey mom, hey dad,” Charlotte whispers and her voice breaks on the last syllable. “I know it’s been a while. A long while,” Her brows furrow. “I’m really sorry about that.” She exhales and crouches down, then, with a trembling hand, she reaches out to trace the letters of each of their names, “I just, I miss you both _so_ much.”

_Oliver Jonas Queen               Felicity Megan Smoak-Queen_

_1985-2031.                                   1989-2031._

Charlotte stares down at her bracelet, before closing her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the last time she saw her parents while they were still alive. It was the day before the Uprising, a Saturday, and she remembers waking up to the smell of bacon and her father’s famous banana pancakes. She’d stumbled down the stairs of their townhouse, sleep in her eyes, to find her mother sitting on the counter tapping away on her tablet, acting as her father’s taste-tester.

After each bite, her father would kiss her mother, and her mother would smile.

That’s what Charlotte remembers the most, the way her mother would smile after each kiss.

She swallows hard around the lump in her throat before she looks back at their headstones. “There’s something I need to do, something I couldn’t do while Uncle Barry was still alive,” Charlotte says. She remembers the vow her godfather made when she was a child to never, ever alter or mess with the timeline again and she’s tried _so hard_ to honor his vow, but it’s been nine months since she lost her beloved Uncle Barry; nine months since she learned about the altered timeline he created before she was born.

“I  _tried_ ,” Charlotte vows, and it’s true, she tried everything before deciding to travel back to 2015. “God,” She sobs, voice ragged, “You know I’ve tried everything.”

Charlotte thinks back to everything that has happened since the Uprising, everything she has tried to prevent.

It has been nearly a decade since she took up the mantle of the Black Canary and it feels like she hasn’t accomplished _anything_.

Star City still smokes and smolders around her while crime and criminals run rampant. Herself and Connor have tried to save their city, but the city has become chaotic and grotesque since the Uprising. Star City no longer _wants_ to be saved.

“This is the only thing I haven’t tried,” Charlotte sinks back on her heels and takes a deep, shuddering breath as she wipes away her tears with the back of her sleeve. “I can travel back and make it so none of this ever happens. I know Uncle Barry changed the timeline and I know he did it before I was born. That’s _when_ I’m going to travel back to,” The lump suddenly returns in Charlotte’s throat and fresh tears stream down her face when she adds, “But I’m not going to tell you who I am.”

She wants to preserve as much of the timeline as she can, but Charlotte has another reason for not telling them.

She’s buried it down deep because she _wants_ to believe she can save everyone, but she also knows that may not be the case.

She understands that some deaths may be preordained and nothing she does will be able to change it ( _she has heard all the stories about Uncle Barry, about how he tried for months and months to save the love of his life, only to still lose her to Savitar_ ) and for this reason she cannot tell them who she truly is. Charlotte cannot bear to become close to her loved ones again, not after living without them for so long, only to have to return to a future where they aren’t. She cannot lose them all over again.

“I think I can handle your mistrust,” Charlotte admits, her fingers reaching out to trace the letters of their names once more, and then they wander down to the year of their death, “But I don’t think I can survive you _loving_ me.” Emotions are a distraction and, if she’s going to do this, if she’s going to succeed, she cannot be ruled by them. She knows her family and she knows that telling them the truth would only slow her down.

Besides, there’s one more possibility, one she hasn’t voiced to Robbie _or_ Connor: the truth that traveling back to before she’s born may alter her parents’ future as well as her own. She could cease to exist. She cannot allow them to become close to her, only for her to be erased from existence. It would only hurt them, and that’s the last thing Charlotte wants to do.

“Whatever happens,” Charlotte rasps, then lifts her palm to her mouth and kisses it before she presses her hand over each of their names on their headstones. “ _Please_ don’t think less of me,” She begs.

 

* * *

 

“It’s not too late to back out, Charlie,” Robbie’s anxiously watching her, his brows furrowed, and his mouth pinched, staring at the device she’s holding in her hands. “You don’t have to do this,” He insists when she merely stares at him and Charlotte knows, if she said that she’s changed her mind, Robbie would support her. “We can find another way,” Robbie practically begs.

Slowly, Charlotte shakes her head, “No, Robbie.”

“Charlie,” Robbie murmurs with a plea in his voice.

“No,” Charlotte snaps, glowering at Robbie, “I am _tired_ of having this argument with you. There is no other way because we’ve already tried everything else! We have tried, for years, to save this city, but nothing we have tried has worked because _we_ are not enough.” She shouts, her mother’s loud voice tumbling from her mouth, and he flinches before she turns away from him. “The only chance we have is to stop all of this before it ever happens,” Charlotte rasps.

Robbie reaches for her, taking her hand, pulling her in close, “But at what _cost_ , Charlie?” He pauses, turning his eyes away for a moment before he continues. “You were there,” His blue eyes are like hooks for the soul when he looks back at Charlotte, “You _heard_ what Cisco said.”

 _“I have a great idea, but it could also be a horrible idea, but either way it’s an idea,”_  Cisco had babbled before explaining the device to her,  _”Think of it like a fax machine. To send a fax you had to break the message down into a stream of electrons before you sent it, which is essentially what we’ll be doing with you.”_

“You understand what this device will do,” He continues as fear etches into his handsome face and it breaks Charlotte’s heart because he looks _wrecked_. “It will strip you down to the molecular level, Charlotte.” Head shaking, Robbie looks away to somewhere only he can see. “That means, for a moment, you will cease to exist.”

Charlotte stills, and it takes everything she has not to flinch at those words.

Realistically, she knows, there is a chance she could cease to exist even if the device and her plan both work.

Charlotte extracts her hand from his hold, takes a step back. “I don’t matter,” She insists.

Charlotte’s words make Robbie’s heart pound frantically in his chest. “You _do_ matter, Charlie, _you_ matter.” He insists as he wraps his arms around his cousin’s thin frame and pulls her as close as physically possible, burying his face in her dark waves while Charlotte stands idle in his embrace. “I have already lost Mia,” Robbie’s voice breaks over his little sister’s name, then he leans back enough so he can look Charlotte in the eye. “I can’t lose you, too. You’re the only family I have left. Please don’t do this, Charlie. Don’t _leave_.”

Charlotte cups her cousin’s cheeks with her hands, using her thumbs to brush away the tears that have escaped his impossibly blue eyes and says, “I’m sorry, Robbie, I am _so_ sorry.” Robbie turns to stone in her embrace, back rigid. “But I _have_ to do this,” Charlotte persists, “Nothing you say will change my mind.”

Betrayal flickers across his face as he backs away from Charlotte.

Robbie throws his hands up in defeat and wanders off to the side, shaking his head, then Connor’s there at her side.

“You have something you want to say?” Charlotte challenges, eyebrow arched.

Connor glances from Robbie to Charlotte, and sighs, “Nothing you want to hear.”

Charlotte’s mouth curves into a frown as she turns to look at Robbie, as does Connor, and she reaches into her pocket to retrieve a letter she hands off to Connor. “I need you to deliver this for me,” She insists and Connor tenses when he sees the name written on the envelope in her loopy handwriting: _William_. “Will’s stubborn, he won’t understand why I had to do this, so I need you to be there for him,” Her impossibly blue eyes are heavy with tears when she looks at Connor, “I need you to be there for them _both_ ,” She’s talking about William, about Robbie; the last remaining members of the Queen family.

_(_

_Charlotte’s broached the idea of traveling back in time with William once before, and her brother had been furious, unwilling to see the reason behind what she’d been saying because he’d been afraid for her._

_“I’ll give you two a moment,” Zoe murmurs (she’s been in their lives as long as Charlotte can remember, an honorary member of the family as the daughter of Rene Ramirez, and she’s been in love with Charlotte’s brother since before either of them knew what love was) as she climbs to her feet, tightening her cardigan around herself when she pauses near Charlotte, murmuring, “Be gentle. He’s more fragile than you think,” She insists._

_Charlotte nods, staring at the floor, her arms crossed defensively across her chest when she murmurs, “I don’t understand why you won’t support me on this.” Wetness clings to the edges of her eyelids, but the tears don’t spill. “I can fix it, Will,” Charlotte insists, “I can go back and make it so none of this ever happens. I can save our family,” She chokes out._

_“No,” William protests, anguished, “I have already lost too many people. My mom, Dad, Felicity, Mia… I won’t lose you, too, Charlie,” His voice is uncharacteristically sharp and tinged with something dark that reminds her of their father when something threatened their family. “I refuse to lose anyone else,” William insists, and she understands what Zoe meant by her departing words, claiming her brother was more fragile than he wanted to appear._

_“But that’s just it,” Charlotte points out in triumph, “We don’t have to lose anyone. Will, we can have them_ back _,” Her eyes are bright with hope for the first time in years, “I can save them, I know I can.”_

_“Saving them doesn’t save you,” William shouts as he takes a step towards Charlotte, fear and desperation and fury warring for dominance on his face, “Going back in time before you were born? It’s suicide, Charlotte.”_

_Charlotte blinks. “…I don’t matter,” She murmurs dully._

_William growls deep in chest and stalks forward, pulling his sister into his arms, holding her as close as physically possible as if he’s afraid she’ll cease to exist right before his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” He snarls, sharking her, “Don’t you dare think there is anything, past or present, more important to me than you. Promise me you’ll let this go, Charlie,” He begs._

_“I promise,” Charlotte murmurs, knowing even then that it’s a promise she’ll never be able to keep._

_)_

Blinking the memory away, Charlotte asks, “Am I making the right call?” Connor’s brows furrow when he turns to look at her, giving Charlotte his undivided attention. “By not telling them who I am,” She clarifies.

“Yes. You can’t tell them anything,” Connor’s expression becomes pinches and he reminds her so much of Uncle Digg ( _but there are traces of Aunt Lyla in his expression, too, Charlotte can see it in the familiar curve of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes_ ). “Just stick to your cover story, Charlie. The less they know about the future, the better.”

She nods as she fiddles with her diamond arrow bracelet, then asks, “But what if they find out who I really am?”

Connor shakes his head, “They won’t. Not if you stick to your cover story; not if you can pass yourself off as another vigilante.” He places his hand on her shoulder and until now she’s never understood what her mother meant when she claimed a hand on the shoulder can feel more intimate than a kiss. “Just remember: protect baby Sara, and protect our parents.” He exhales carefully and adds, “Keep them alive for our future.”

 _Great,_ Charlotte thinks. _No pressure there._ “You say that like it will be easy, but I think you forget how much of clusterfuck 2015 is for everyone,” Charlotte drawls, voice dry as sandpaper. “Grandpa Lance turned his back on Team Arrow, Uncle Roy left until his return in 2019, not to mention the whole fiasco with the League and Ra’s...”

Connor frowns, pulling her closer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Yeah, but you don’t have to concern yourself with all of that,” Steel enters his voice, a warning. “Just focus on keeping our family safe, and that includes you. I mean it, Charlotte. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, don’t pull any life-threatening stunts…”

“Same goes for you, partner,” Charlotte orders, “I fully expect you to be here waiting for me when I come home.”

Her words feel like barbed-wire wrapping around her heart, but she doesn’t let it show.

“Copy that,” Connor says, a smile on his face, his brown eyes sad. 

Robbie makes his way over then, and Charlotte moves out of Connor’s embrace, looking at between two of the people she loves most in this horrible wreck of a future. She wonders what it will be like to have their family _back_.

“Okay,” She nods resolutely, “I’m ready.” 

 

* * *

 

  **2015.**

Charlotte activates the device around her neck and watches as the world around her fades from view, replaced by a bright, opalescent light.

She learns quickly that time traveling _hurts_ , like being set on fire from the inside out, and she can actually _feel_ as her every molecule is torn to shreds. It’s over quickly, her molecules quickly knitting back together, so quick that she doesn’t even have a chance to scream as a wicked lance of white-hot agony rushes through her, and then...

Charlotte feels a spasm shake her body and she draws in a gasping breath, sitting up, only for another wave of white-hot agony to ripple through her. “Motherfucking fuck,” She gasps, dropping back to the ground before she presses the heel of one of her hands to her forehead, moaning, “ _Ow_.”

“Are you okay,” a woman’s voice asks softly.

Given that she was just broken down the molecular level and, _hopefully_ , sent back in time to the start of 2015, Charlotte admits to herself that the answer to that question is probably  _no_ but what she says is: “Yeah,” Charlotte mumbles, voice barely more than a whisper and even that feels like a shout, but she forces an eye open and stares at the blurry shape crouched beside her on the pavement, asking, “Don’t suppose you got the plate off the truck that hit me?”

“No,” the woman growls angrily, “Whoever they were, they were gone before I arrived.”

Charlotte nods but she needs information. Facts to work with. Answers.

“Where am I?” Charlotte asks, trying not to move her head as she wills the pounding to subside.

“An alley between 52nd and Werner, in Starling City,” the woman answers after a brief pause and Charlotte’s entire body relaxes because, prior to the re-brand the city went under in the summer of 2015, her home was known as _Starling City_. “You really shouldn’t be out at this time of night, especially alone,” the woman adds, but Charlotte’s happy to note her voice isn’t _scolding_ , “It’s not safe.”

Charlotte wants to laugh, because when has Star City _ever_ been safe?

“Do you remember how you ended up here?”

“No,” Charlotte croaks, voice thick with emotion because  _it worked._ “Last thing I remember I was _home_ ,” It’s always best to mix a little bit of the truth to tell a believable lie — according to her Uncle Roy. It’s obvious that the device worked because the last thing she knew she was standing in the bunker saying goodbye to Robbie and Connor, then activating the device she can still feel hanging around her neck.

She’s just not sure why it chose to drop her _here_.

“Hey,” the woman murmurs, and then she rests her gloved hand on Charlotte’s shoulder, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Charlotte presses a hand to her forehead as the sharp, burning pain fades into more of a dull ache. “Got a headache,” She offers as an explanation for her emotional state because she’s far too raw now, knowing that she’s succeeded in traveling back, and she rubs the pad of her thumb over her middle and index finger as she resists the urge to hug a total stranger.

“You probably hit your head when you fell, but it doesn’t appear to be a robbery,” She adds in a quiet, gentle tone when she notices the brunette’s necklace and diamond bracelet and then she asks, “Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need a hospital?”

Charlotte blinks. “What?” Her head swims and it takes a moment before her eyes focus, but then her vision clears enough that the blurry figure resolves itself into a woman dressed in black leather from head to toe and a mouth that’s painted deep purple. ”No,” Charlotte mumbles distractedly, focusing on the mask because she _recognizes_ that mask, “I’m fine.”

Charlotte climbs to her feet and the woman reaches out to steady her, giving her an encouraging smile as she says, “Woah, easy.”

“Who are you,” Charlotte rasps, brows furrowed, her impossibly blue eyes heavy with tears because she’s 83% sure the woman in front of her is _Laurel Lance_. Her parents’ Laurel; Grandpa Lance’s eldest daughter. It’s always been the greatest regret of Charlotte’s childhood, never having the chance to meet Laurel, the first Black Canary.

But Laurel died in the Spring of 2016, a little over two years before Charlotte was born

Still, she knows who she is. Charlotte’s grown up with stories about Laurel Lance.

The woman that was her mother’s friend; her father’s first love; and Grandpa Lance’s rock.

Dinah Laurel Lance, the Black Canary.

“You can call me the Black Canary,” Laurel introduces. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Charlie,” Charlotte answers quietly, her throat starting to close up, “My name is Charlie.”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was born out of four things:
> 
> 1) I desperately miss Roy Harper and refuse to accept that he's gone forever.
> 
> 2) They killed Laurel after I finally reached a point where I honestly, truly _liked_ Laurel
> 
> 3) I ship the _heck_ out of William Clayton/Zoe Ramirez. Just picture it, guys, in the future when Will's with his father and Rene has Zoe back. 
> 
> 4) My anger over Barry Allen screwing up the timeline and erasing Sara Diggle from existence has not lessened because she deserved better. (Not really sure what I did to her is _better_ but she hasn't been erased. That's an improvement, right?)


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FACE CLAIM:** [[C A S T]](http://babblekween.tumblr.com/dynasty)

Charlotte sidelines her awe at meeting Laurel Lance and hunches her shoulders, playing the role of the victim _flawlessly._

Laurel falls for the routine hook, line, and sinker, but Charlotte’s skin _prickles_ at having to wear such a mask, especially after growing up as she had surrounded by strong women such as her mother and Aunt Thea. Still, as much as she hates it, it’s a necessary evil. She fully intends to make herself seem unremarkable until she’s ready and it is for that reason she continues to play the role of an innocent thanking her savior.

When Laurel suggests the hospital once more, Charlotte assures the blonde that she doesn’t need a doctor because she’s fine, honest, and then she stutters out a thank-you, her cheeks stained pink, before she disappears into the night.

Charlotte keeps her shoulders hunched as she walks out of the alley with her hand curled around the serrated knife she always carries with her when years of training kicks in and she feels eyes on her. She subtly casts her gaze around, her impossibly blue eyes searching for _whomever_ is watching her.

She almost trips over her feet when she looks upward and sees a figure on the edge of the roof, standing stock stick, and Charlotte’s heart pounds in her chest when she catches a glimpse of familiar red leather.

Charlotte knows, without a doubt, exactly who is standing on that roof.

Uncle Roy.

_(_

_“Look, Charlotte, there’s always going to be someone that’s bigger and stronger than you, but that just means you need be meaner. You gotta know where to hit them back,” Uncle Roy tells her after she comes home with a black eye after she’s gotten into a fight at school. Rachel Fuller was making snide remarks about William, who’s been Charlotte’s protector since_ forever _, and she’d decided it was her turn to be his protector._

_Uncle Roy sits forward then and grabs one of her hands, “Here, let’s see you make a fist.”_

_Charlotte’s_ _eight-years-old and she frowns skeptically at her Uncle Roy, but nods and does as he asks. She’s pretty sure what he’s showing her right now will result in her mother using her loud voice, which is terrifying and to be avoided at all costs, but can actually be pretty amusing when it’s aimed at Rene or Uncle Roy. Even her daddy thinks so._

_“Good, now keep your thumb there against your fingers,” Roy continues and she watches as he manipulates her fingers, making the ball of her fist tighter. “Don’t let it stick out and don’t ever tuck it under your fingers.” He winces, relieving a distant memory, “Believe me, kid,”_

_“Ick,” Charlotte shudders._

_“Now, I want you to keep your shoulders straight and hit my hand,” Roy instructs as he holds one of his hands up, the palm flat and facing her, and then his brow raises slowly when she throws a weak punch. “Hey, hey, no, c’mon, Charlie,” Roy says, “I’m going to make sure you can give somebody a good hit next time they think twice about messing with you. Because the thing is, people are going to try and tell you who you are your whole life, kid, you just have to punch back and tell them ‘no this is who I am.’ Now try again,” He encourages, “Keep your wrist straight, shoulders square, and hit me, Charlie.”_

_)_

Arsenal backs away from the ledge ( _Charlotte’s heart cracks at the retreat, an open fault line. She’s missed her beloved uncle so, so much and now he’s_ right there _but she’s nothing more than a stranger to Roy Harper in 2015_ ) and disappears into the shadows.

Charlotte focuses on the delicate arrow bracelet curled around her wrist that serves as a reminder of what she’s trying to accomplish and why she had to travel to 2015. She’s here to save the future, to save her loved ones from enduring the loss that’s plagued her life since she was 13.

She succeeds in controlling the rising panic in her chest and walks out onto the streets of _Starling_ City, lips pressed into a carefully composed line. Laurel’s warned her about the dangers with Starling City here in 2015, but Charlotte knows it’s nothing compared to the horror of Star City in 2046.

Charlotte’s memory sharpens. Focuses. And it dawns on her where in the past she has landed. Laurel’s started her journey as the Black Canary and Roy Harper—( _People are going to try and tell you who you are your whole life, kid, you just have to punch back and tell them ‘no this is who I am._ )— is still Arsenal and a member of Team Arrow.

And Charlotte’s father is nowhere to be seen. Which means she’s landed at the start of 2015.

Exhaling slowly, Charlotte raises her chin bravely, then squares her shoulders. It’s time for her to get to work.

 

* * *

 

She dedicates the next few weeks to establishing a life for herself in 2015. Team Arrow won’t trust her initially, she knows, but they will be short-staffed in the coming summer when her parents leave for five months and _that_ is when she’ll integrate herself onto the team.

Charlotte steals the necessities ( _items such as clothes and food and cash_ ) and then rents a room in the old rundown motel in the Glades. It’s far from ideal but it’s cheap and no one asks any questions when she pays in cash and doesn’t offer a last name. Besides, it’s far from being the worst place Charlotte has ever crashed.

Then, to give her something to do as she plans, Charlotte joins a gym. Wildcat Gym is two-blocks away from the motel where she’s staying and it’s 24-hours. It’s also owned by Ted Grant, who Charlotte knows is a boxer and a former vigilante, just like she knows he trained Laurel Lance.

Sometimes Charlotte even catches glimpses of his training sessions with Laurel.

Uncle Roy—( _no, no, no, he’s Roy, not Uncle Roy. Not Uncle Roy._ )—shows up one day to talk to Laurel. It’s obvious that the two of them are arguing about something, probably about Laurel’s insistence on being the Black Canary, but Charlotte can barely hear anything over the pounding of her own heart as it tries its hardest to pound its way out of her chest.

She stumbles from the gym, murmuring apologies to the partner she’d been sparring with.

Charlotte doesn’t return to the gym for three days.

 

* * *

 

Charlotte’s been in the past three weeks when she feels like she’s finally, truly ready to interact with the past versions of her family. Not that it really matters if she’s ready or not. She has a plan and, if she’s going to be accepted as a vigilante in Star City, then it’s time for her to get started.

First, Charlotte needs to get eyes on Team Arrow.

Her opening comes a week later thanks to Danny Brickwell.

He’s taken control of the Glades, claiming that it’s _his_ town now, and he’s forced the police out of the Glades. Terror hangs heavy in the air and many people are afraid to leave their homes, afraid to wander the streets that are littered with crime even in the afternoon hours, and as a result Verdant’s short staffed and looking for a new bartender.

Charlotte shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and approaches Verdant ( _the nightclub has been a thing of the past for a long time where Charlotte’s from. Her father becomes Mayor of Star City—Mayor Handsome the news once called him, something her mother and the rest of Team Arrow never let him live down—and her Aunt Thea worked alongside him until she started the Moira Queen Foundation in 2025_ ) and her heeled boots click-clack against the concrete as she pushes the door open.

Thea’s standing by the bar, clipboard in hand, and she tenses at the sound of approaching footsteps before she imperceptibly moves her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to pounce. “Hello,” Thea blinks when she whirls around, her gaze falling on a brunette with a hesitant smile etched into her face, “Can I help you?”

Charlotte slows to a stop and stares a moment too long at her aunt’s younger self, but then she waves a dismissive hand and strides towards Thea. “I was actually hoping I could help you,” She says with a wicked glint in her impossibly blue eyes that look so familiar to Thea. Her head tilts to the side, an action that reminds Thea of _someone_ , she just can’t place _who_ , then Charlotte says, “I heard that you were short a bartender and I was wondering if there’s a chance you're hiring.”

“Haven’t you heard about this whole neighborhood turning into a scene from ‘The Purge,’” Thea jokes as she rests all her weight on one leg, crossing her arms over her chest when she adds, “We’re not even opening tonight.”

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t work to do,” Charlotte shrugs.

Thea’s eye narrow and she sweeps her calculating gaze over the woman standing in front of her: brunette, blue eyes, well-toned with a look of pure determination etched into her pretty face. “Fair enough,” She nods, “You've lucked out because I just so happen to be desperate. Here's my offer: for the next two weeks you’ll report here every day as a test run. You’ll get paid at half salary and, if it works out, at the end of the two weeks I will hire you on full-time. Deal?”

Charlotte nods, trying her best not to smile, “Deal.”

Thea approaches Charlotte, arm outstretched, “I’m Thea.”

“Of course. I know who you are,” Charlotte says, laughing a little breathlessly before she throws a hand up in a _‘duh’_ fashion, and then reaches out to shake her future-aunt’s hand. “You’re Thea Queen,” She adds.

Thea’s expression becomes pinched at the mention of the last name Queen ( _Charlotte remembers then, how her aunt had learned that she was the product of an affair and the biological daughter of Malcolm Merlyn, not Robert Queen, and how it had taken her aunt years to reconcile that fact. In the end Thea had accepted that Robert, the man who raised her, was her father in every way that mattered and she’d decided to honor his memory by naming her own son Robert_ ) but it clears quickly, then she asks, “And you are?”

“I’m Charlotte,” She says. “But everyone calls me Charlie,” She adds and her mouth curves into the same dazzling smile she knows she inherited from her mother and Grandma Donna. ( _“Not that smile,”_ Uncle Roy always groaned when she turned it on him, _“I hate that smile. It makes me want to agree to anything.”_ )

 

* * *

 

“I HAVE FULFILLED MY FATHER’S PROMISE,” Grant Wilson roars the words that have been the soundtrack of her nightmares since she was thirteen years old, throwing his Deathstroke mask to the ground, sword held loosely at his side.  

“No! Mom! _Dad_!” Charlotte screeches and then she’s falling to her knees, her Uncle Roy’s strong arms the only thing keeping her upright, but she fights against his hold and runs towards Grant Wilson, a fire thrumming through her veins because she’s going to tears him apart, she’s going to _burn his world to ash_ , but then his brother reaches for his gun and takes aim—

_Bang._

She flinches and braces herself for the bullet that never comes but then she hears a stuttered cry, one that slices through her, and she looks over her shoulder just in time to see the way blood coats his fingers as he stares down at the hole in his stomach. Her heart stops because abdominal wounds are tricky, not to mention painful, and the noise that leaves her mouth is somewhere between horror and madness.

“Uncle Roy,” Charlotte cries and she races to his side, gravel slicing her knees and palms as she slides across the ground to his side, begging him not to leave her too as he struggles to breathe, gasping for air, gurgling, choking, clutching at nothing. “No, no, no no no,” She pleads, trying to staunch the bleeding. His blood stains her hands, her pink cardigan, the bottom of her Chuck Taylor All-Stars.

“You. Should. Have. Saved us,” Roy gasps and it’s only then that she sees the bodies of her loved ones surrounding them. Dad. Mom. William. Zoe. Grandma Donna. Pops. Connor. Aunt Thea. Uncle Barry. Mia. Robbie. Uncle Digg. Aunt Lyla. “Why didn’t you do more,” He demands just before the light dies in his eyes.

She _screams_ \--

Charlotte startles awake, gasping for air, sweat-dampened hair clinging to her neck. Her hands curl around the serrated knife she hides under her pillow ( _she has slept with a knife under her pillow ever since the Uprising; ever since she was thirteen and learned that monsters were real; ever since her life became a nightmare and every sound, every creak, startled her awake_ ) and her hand hurts because her grip is so tight.

She’s shaking, her entire body quivering, while her heart pounds in her chest.

It takes her several minutes to remember that she’s in the past, her mind still stuck on the blood and death and tragedy that’s to come if she doesn’t succeed in saving the future, but she eventually loosens the hold she has on the serrated knife before she collapses back into the bed, the old mattress protesting with a loud squeak while her breaths come in heavy pants.

With a final shaky breath, Charlotte rolls out of the bed and stands, slowly, on her feet, and then walks towards the small bathroom that’s attached to her motel room and she splashes cold water on her face before she braces herself against the sink.

She raises her gaze to the woman in the mirror, and her heart splinters as she considers her impossibly blue eyes.

Charlotte’s always been told she has her father’s eyes. Identical, not only in color, but in pain and anger.

Because those she loved were ripped from her.

_“I HAVE FULFILLED MY FATHER’S PROMISE.”_

Charlotte squeezes her eyes shut when the memory of Grant Wilson’s voice, hoarse and thick and insane, echoes in her mind and she backs away from the mirror and walks back into her motel room. Digging through the meager belongings in her dufflebag, Charlotte throws a grey t-shirt on over her sports bra before she grabs her prepaid phone and her sneakers, knowing that it’s pointless to try and sleep after her nightmare.

She doesn’t often dream, or she doesn’t _remember_ her dreams, but she’s started to in the weeks since she traveled back to 2015. Her nights are now plagued with the memories and screams of the family she has lost. It all started that first night when she caught a glimpse of her Uncle Roy.

Charlotte’s heart continues to pound until she walks into Wildcat Gym, thankful that it’s 24-hours and its doors are always open, and then she’s wrapping her hands and absorbing all the comfort she can from the familiarity of the equipment. In the _function_ of the room itself.

She’s always loved the gym, the freedom to hit and kick and punch, pushing herself to the limit just to see how far she can go. Her heart rate has returned to normal by the time she walks up to a punching bag. She channels all of her fear and hatred and repressed energy into attacking the punching bag like it’s Grant Wilson.

Tonight, Uncle Roy was the star of her nightmare.

Last night it had been her parents and William.

The night before that it was Robbie and Mia.

Charlotte collapses, leaning forward until her sweaty forehead can rest against the punching bag, and just breathes. Her breaths come in pants while she tries to smother the images, the _nightmares_ , that want to resurface. She remembers how she startled awake the other night after watching Grandpa Lance tumble from a rooftop, three arrows in his chest like his daughter Sara. She remembers it more clearly than she remembers the sound of his laugh.

She sighs, straightens up, and goes back to working the bag with a steady, bruising rhythm.

Ted Grant walks into the gym with Laurel. Laurel’s brows furrow as she stares at Charlotte, something unreadable in her expression while Ted’s mouth immediately curves into a frown when he notices Charlotte. He approaches her like she’s a scared animal, backed into a corner, and his hands stay level with his waist like he’s trying to make himself seem harmless. “Hey, Chuck,” He’s called her that since she first walked into his gym several weeks ago. “You’re here early,” He notes, “Bad night?”

His question stops Charlotte cold and she backs away from the punching bag, unwrapping her hands and pretending that she doesn’t see the concern etched into his face when she snorts. “Yeah,” Charlotte falters for a moment, a split second of hesitation that’s out of character for her, her voice hoarse and thick when she says, “I guess you could say that.”

 

* * *

 

“Tax time,” Thug #1 announces as he walks into Verdant, “Brick wants his cut.”

“Empty the register,” Thug #2 orders as he walks up to the bar, baseball bat casually resting against his shoulder, but then his mouth curves into a slow but thin smirk when he looks at Charlotte. “Unless the lady can think of a…” he sucks in his bottom lip as he blatantly trails his eyes down over her form, “More _enjoyable_ form of payment.”

Charlotte rubs the pad of her thumb over her middle and index finger but gives no other outward reaction to his words, thinks instead about how easy it would be to leap over the bar and disarm him before breaking his arm. “ _Enjoyable_ is not the word I would use,” Charlotte says with a saccharine smile before she opens the register and then she walks to the other end of the bar to pack away a tray of glasses, but she never takes her eyes off Brick’s men.

“Brick’s tax collectors giving you trouble?”

Charlotte tenses. When she turns around to face the speaker, she finds herself face to face with Roy Harper. “No,” she walks towards him as he moves to lean further across the bar, his forearms resting on the black marble. “I’m a lot tougher than I look,” Charlotte says with a small smile then asks, “What can I get for you, Boss-Man?”

Roy shakes his head with a small smirk of amusement, something he does whenever she refers to him and Thea as Boss-Man and Boss-Lady, and then asks, “Can I get a whiskey?”

“You’re Boss-Lady’s second in command, pretty sure that means you get free range of the bar,” Charlotte points out as she gets him a glass and then she’s grabbing the bottle and giving it a toss in the air, catching it behind her back with practiced ease before she casually upends it over his glass, “So what has you trying to drink your problems away?”

Roy tosses back his whiskey, wincing slightly from the burn. “They’re not problems exactly,” He says after, spinning his glass on the counter, “More like I’m weighing options.”

“And those options are…?” Charlotte prompts.

“Do you always pry this much?” Roy huffs.

Charlotte tilts her head to the side in consideration, and she still wears a smile, but it has started to crack along the edges because how many times had her Uncle Roy asked her a variation of that very same question? “Isn’t that why people talk to bartenders? To spill their problems to an objective third person with no interest in the matter,” She questions, and he cracks a small smile when she points to herself and says, “Objective third person.”

Roy hums and she pours him another two-fingers of whiskey without him asking and he accepts it gratefully, curling his palms around the chiseled glass. Charlotte proceeds to wipe down the counter with a few swipes of an old rag before she hooks a foot in the rungs of a stool and pulls up her own seat on her side of the bar.

“So,” Charlotte starts, brow arched.

“So,” Roy echoes with a sigh, “I’m in a bit of a situation that’s a little over my head, and someone has offered to help, but he’s… not a good guy.” He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. He’s wording it to sound like he’s in trouble with a bookie or something else equally mundane and normal, but she has a feeling this has to do with Team Arrow. “I guess my question is: is it okay to do the morally _wrong_ thing if it justifies the end?”

“That’s deep,” Charlotte drawls, “Here I was thinking you needed to rant about your fucked-up love life.”

Roy’s eyes crinkle around the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

Charlotte grabs a beer from the cooler and chips the cap off the edge of the counter before taking a long draw from it. She wipes her mouth with the back of her head, then says, “In my experience doing the wrong thing for the right reasons is still wrong,” Charlotte says around the lump that’s formed in her throat because isn’t that what she’s done by traveling to the past? Letting the end justify the means? “Once you start letting the ends justify the means,” She shrugs, “That’s just the first step.”

“First step towards what?” Roy asks, brows furrowed.

She pauses, her tongue pressed to the back of her teeth, then she gives a slight shake of her head when she answers, “Becoming the bad guy.” Charlotte looks up when she hears heels clicking against the concrete floor and watches as her mother—( _no, no, no, she’s Felicity, not mom. Not mom._ )—  and Laurel head toward the entrance to the Foundry.

Roy’s watching them too, concern swimming in his gaze, and then he stands and shrugs on his tan leather jacket. “Thanks for the chat, you make a pretty decent sounding board,” Roy says before he throws back the last of his drink, passing the empty glass back to Charlotte.

“What about your problem,” Charlotte frowns as she takes the glass, “I’d like to help.”

“You already have,” Roy assures and then his face breaks out in a wide, sincere smile and for a moment she looks at him and sees her cousin _Robbie_. It steals her breath for a moment and she exhales, releasing a long, ragged breath as she watches him walk away. She jolts back to reality when a patron appears at the far end of the bar, impatient to be served.

 

* * *

 

Charlotte’s mattress squeaks and protests under her weight as she tosses and turns that night. Uncle Roy’s—( _no, no, he’s Roy, not Uncle Roy. Not Uncle Roy._ )—words repeat in her head and she spends the whole next day agonizing over whether she should reveal herself to Team Arrow. Not her identify, no, but her skills. Without her father they’re obviously out-manned against Brickwell.

In the end it comes down to two things: one, her father wasn’t around the first go-around and clearly all of Team Arrow made it through ( _unless, of course, her being in 2015 unknowingly altered the situation somehow_ ). And two, Charlotte is a logical person. Cool, controlled. She has _plans_ , plans that she worked on for months, working out the kinks in her head before traveling to 2015. She can’t be hasty now.

Charlotte’s planned her mission to the last detail. How to insert herself in Team Arrow, how to play them. How to establish herself as a vigilante before accepting the team’s offer when they approach her with their recruitment speech. Plans, plans, plans. Joining them now is _not_ a part of her plan.

In the end, Laurel makes the decision for Charlotte.

She’s walking out of Wildcat Gym, having sweat more than she would have liked since she had planned on heading to Verdant, the gym bag she’d stolen weeks ago thrown over her shoulder as she talks to Ted Grant. “So, you, uh, got any plans after this?” He asks, handing her his water bottle from inside his dufflebag, mouth quirking in amusement when she knocks it back, guzzling it down.

Charlotte shrugs. “Not really,” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, “Why?”

“I’m kinda hungry,” Ted looks away from her, “And I could use some company.”

Charlotte arches an eyebrow because she likes Ted, but she’s not interested in forming attachments to the people in 2015, but she’s also pretty sure that the boxer isn’t making a pass at her. Beneath all that charm and flirtation, Charlotte thinks he just might be trying to be nice. She’s also 83% sure that he’s ass-backward crushed out on Laurel Lance. It breaks her heart to know that, whatever happens between the two, if anything _does_ , will end in tragedy because Laurel’s killed by Damien Darhk.

But, well, it’s been a long time since she shared a meal with someone. Longer since she had something akin to a _friend_.

Charlotte shifts a little on her feet, uncomfortable. “You craving anything specific?”

Ted’s gaze finally drifts back to Charlotte, smile widening a little as he searches her face, then he says. “I make a pretty mean omelette,” He shrugs and then his tone turns teasing when he adds, “And you need protein after the beating you just gave my equipment.”

“He can box, _and_ he can cook,” Charlotte muses, her mouth turned up at the corner, “Is that how you wooed your girlfriend?”

He releases a quiet breath under his breath. “Smart-ass,” Ted huffs, almost sounding _fond_ , “And I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What,” Charlotte teases, pretending to be scandalized, capping his bottle before she tosses it back, “But you can _cook_.”

Catching the bottle, Ted puts it back in his bag and nods, “I know, but it takes a special kind of lady to handle all of this,” He says with a wink as he holds the door to the gym open for her, the two of them walking out into the night together.

Laurel’s there, hands inside her pockets as she waits for Ted. “Ted, hey,” She says, approaching them, brows furrowed briefly when she notices Charlotte. “Can I talk to him alone for a moment,” She asks and Charlotte nods, waving a dismissive hand before Ted can open his mouth.

Charlotte moves off to the side, but angles herself so that she can still hear their conversation, her brows furrowed when she hears Ted being short and gruff in a way she’s never heard before. “Laurel, you’ve been busy,” Ted notes and he doesn’t sound happy, “I _told you_ that you weren’t ready.”

“Ted, I was—” Laurel starts.

“Guess you weren’t listening,” Ted continues as if the lawyer hasn’t spoken, “Or are you _honestly_ gonna tell me that masked blonde I seen on the news isn’t you? I’ve seen you fight, Laurel. Hell, I _trained_ you.”

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” Laurel rasps and she looks worn and weary and like she’s in need of an entire month of sleep and Ted must see it too because he softens when he asks, “What did you come here for then?”

Laurel explains the situation: Team Arrow is rounding up the people of the Glades to take back the neighborhood from Brickwell. It’s certifiable but Laurel talks about it like it’s recess and they’re about to fight the school bully, but Ted agrees, and then Laurel’s in front of Charlotte, asking, “What about you?”

“Excuse me,” Charlotte asks, brows furrowed.

“I… I was asked by a friend to help round up the people of the Glades,” Laurel explains, and Charlotte congratulates the lawyer on that being a believable explanation. Laurel trusts Ted, but she’s not about to tell someone she doesn’t know that she’s the Black Canary. “I’ve seen you spar,” Laurel adds, “How do you do in a real fight?”

Charlotte bites her lip, shaking her head a little. “I can hold my own just fine,” she says.

 

* * *

 

Charlotte’s bruised and sore and in a desperate need of a hot shower but she squares her shoulders and holds her hand in a fist like she was taught by her Uncle Roy, but it’s her father’s voice she hears in her head when she moves her weight to the balls of her feet, waiting for her opponent to come to her.

He’s good. He meets her blows and deflects her kicks, but Charlotte’s _better_.

After all, she’s Charlotte _Queen_ , the daughter of Overwatch and the Green Arrow.

Charlotte avoids a jab from her left and catches the offending wrist in her right hand before she pulls Brickwell’s lackey closer, sliding her serrated knife into his side ( _it’s a clean cut, avoiding his organs, but it’ll hurt like a sonuvabitch and require medical attention_ ) and then she sends her heel into the man’s stomach to knock him away before she turns and swings her arm into a right cross, her fist cracking into a second man’s cheek.

She catches the glint of a knife in her peripheral and she throws herself back a step but pain lances across her upper arm ( _the cut is shallow, nothing more than annoyance_ ) but her distraction lasts long enough for her feet to be kicked out from in under her, sending her crashing to the ground.

Charlotte winces, the breath knocked out of her, and she watches as Background Thug #17 stalks towards her until he stills. He pauses, brows furrowed as he looks down in confusion, and then he’s collapsing to the ground. He has a red arrow embedded in his back.

Her impossibly blue eyes seek out her future uncle and she exhales slowly when she finds Arsenal, lowering his bow, and she climbs to her feet and nods in thanks and that’s when she sees it. Charlotte’s spent most of her adult like teaching herself to recognize the shape of a weapon with a single a look and then she’s screaming for Roy to get down, down, down as the thug behind him raises his arm.

Charlotte doesn’t even think as she starts to run, full throttle, and she dives into Roy just as the shot rings out. They hit the ground, Roy first with a pained grunt, her on top of him and she looks up when another shot rings out but it’s Digg taking out the thug that had tried to shoot Roy in the back, his face grim when he nods at her.

Charlotte stares at Digg (afraid, relieved, _safe_ ) and then she rolls off Roy. Her heart pounds in her chest but then Roy’s there above her, asking her if she’s okay as he searches her over for injuries. “Are you alright,” He asks, his voice modulator making his voice unnaturally deep.

She tries to sit up, fails, tries again. “Yeah,” Charlotte winces and climbs to her feet and Roy’s hand hovers near her arm, ready to reach out to steady her, and then she offers him a small smile, “I don’t think I’ve run _that_ fast since middle school.” His eyebrow hikes and she explains, “I used to run track.”

Roy lets out a quiet breath under his breath and his mouth curves into a familiar, amused smirk. “You should get that looked at the first chance you get,” He says, gesturing to the cut on her arm and then he’s running back into the fray, and Charlotte huffs in annoyance because he could have at least _thanked_ her for saving his life.

It ends quickly after that, and then her father is there dressed in a suit that she doesn’t recognize as he addresses the crowd, “I’ve been gone.” Her father says to the people of Starling City, “I’m sorry for what the city has had to endure in my absence, but you _did_ endure it, and the evidence of that struggle is lying at my feet.”

Charlotte gasps as her dead father’s voice booms over the crowd, her heart pounding in her ears as she stumbles away from the delighted cheering of the people, pain blooming somewhere beneath her breast, spreading through her chest and into her throat, choking her. She looks around through blurry eyes, frantically looking for someplace quiet to seek refuge in, and she ducks into an empty alley.

“ _You_ did not fail this city,” Her father continues.

Charlotte barely makes it a few steps into the alley before she slides down the brick wall, hands clasped between her knees as she tries to keep them from shaking, her stomach rolling and her entire body quivering because it’s been so, so long since she last heard his voice. He sounds terrible and he sounds wonderful and she would give anything to be able to fall into his arms and have him promise that it will be alright, that he’s _here now_ and he’ll fix it, but this isn’t her time and he isn’t her father.

“And I _promise_ ,” the Arrow finishes, “That I will not fail you by leaving it again.”

Charlotte raises a trembling hand to wipe her tears, a bitter laugh escaping her, tinged with hysteria.

 

* * *

 

Charlotte watches as the situation worsens over the next two months, her fragile heart breaking when she catches glimpses of the heartbroken and longing looks her parents aim at each other when the other isn’t looking, only for her heart shatter completely in her chest when she watches as Grandpa Lance turns his back on Team Arrow. ( _“It’s one of my biggest regrets,”_ Pops told her once, rubbing a hand over his bald head, _“When you’re in a thousand kinds of pain, grief and anger can make a person act like a fool.”_ )

Charlotte is at Big Belly Burger ( _dear god dear lord she’s missed Big Belly Burger and their strawberry milkshakes and Belly Busters_ ) when Lance reassembles the anti-vigilante task-force and issues an arrest warrant for the Arrow and Team Arrow, with a kill on sight order in effect. Her appetite vanishes, and she pushes her tray away, then she plans.

Plans, plans, plans.

She knows what’s coming. Her father will turn himself in and Uncle Roy will publicly announce that he’s the Arrow, for which he’ll be incarcerated in Iron Heights. Roy Harper will then fake his death and leave Starling City, and Aunt Thea, until he returns in the fall of 2019.  A return that was only possible due to a facial transmogrification device ( _Curtis and her mother duplicated it after studying the one HR Wells brought with him from Earth-19_ ) and her mother creating him a whole new identity for him as Jason Roy Booth.

Star City, however, hadn’t forgotten about _Roy Harper_.

And when Grant Wilson outed her father as the Green Arrow, there had been an Uprising. Agent Watson came to Star City, opening an official investigation as she tore into the lives of every member of Team Arrow, but Grant Wilson never wanted to see her father incarcerated. Charlotte was holding her brother's hand outside the courthouse when Grant Wilson arrived with the lynch mob because Star City demanded  _justice_. 

Because everything bad that had happened to their city happened _after_ Oliver Queen returned from Lian Yu; because Oliver Queen had stood by and watched when Roy Harper, his sister’s first love, an _innocent_ man, died in prison; and all along Oliver Queen had been the man behind the mask. The Hood. The Arrow. The Green Arrow.

Charlotte purses her lips and reaches for the cash she keeps in her pocket, peeling off a few bills before she slaps then down onto the table. 

She walks out into the brisk spring air with a plan forming in her head, a single goal in mind: she’s going to save Roy Harper.

 

* * *

 

Starling City initially protests when the SCPD starts gunning for Team Arrow, outraged that they’re hunting the heroes that have done nothing but protect their city, but then ‘the Arrow’ starts dropping bodies. It’s not her father, Charlotte knows. It’s Ra’s and the League, turning the city against her father.

Charlotte just needs to prove it.

Charlotte slips a few articles into the internet ether, all defending the city’s heroes and questioning what proof the police have that the Arrow is the one that dropped those bodies because hasn’t there been a copycat archer before? Hadn’t Cupid killed a man before dressing him in a suit  _identical_ to the Arrow’s not five months ago? It’s not enough, not nearly enough. But it’s a start.

She then hacks ( _most people forget that she’s not just her father’s daughter, she’s her mother’s as well, and well, the tech she’s using is old by her standards_ ) into the traffic cameras and the security cameras where the Arrow supposedly killed those men. The pictures don’t show the face under the hood, but she doesn’t need that to make this work.

Finding a bench, Charlotte sits, stretching her legs out, and reveling in the California sun. It’s April and the sun is high in the sky and she raises her hand to shield her eyes, pondering when she last felt the sun in her time. Star City seems to be permanently smouldering in 2046, dark heavy clouds constantly hanging over the city like a cloak, bathing it in permanent darkness.

Susan Williams joins her on the bench about ten minutes later, and takes her seat next to Charlotte. “It’s been a while since I had to do this cloak and dagger routine,” She muses and she looks so much younger than Charlotte is used to, but her father has always trusted Susan Williams to a certain degree and, in Charlotte’s time, Susan Williams was often kind when she reported on the Queen family. “What do you have for me?” Susan asks.

Charlotte hands her a file. “Proof that those murders weren’t committed by the Arrow, at least not all of them,” She says before she sinks back on the unforgiving wooden bench, watching as the woman flips through the photographs with wide eyes. “It’s the same suit, but there’s at least two different men wearing them, each with a different build and a different height,” Charlotte says, “And then there’s the M.E.’s autopsy reports. Victims six and seven. She placed their time of death within five minutes of each other, but they were on opposite sides of town.” Charlotte arches a brow, “And last I checked the Arrow wasn’t a Speedster. Wrong city, wrong hero.”

“Copycats impersonating the Arrow, trying to make him public enemy #1,” Susan summarizes as she reviews the proof that Charlotte’s collected with bright eyes and the face of a reporter that knows she’s looking at a tantalizing article. “I presume that this wasn’t obtained,” She pauses, her eyes darting to the brunette to her left, “In the most legal sense?”

“I wouldn’t know. It was an anonymous tip. You found the file on your windshield when you came out of your apartment this morning,” Charlotte shrugs as she climbs to her feet, shoving her hands in the pockets of her black bomber jacket. “You can have the photographs analyzed, it’ll just prove that they’re not doctored,” She fishes a jump drive out of her pocket that holds everything she was able to find and tosses it to Susan, “I trust that you’ll ensure this information gets out.”

Susan’s mouth curves into a smile that can only be described as wolfish. “It’ll be on the evening news,” She vows and Charlotte’s head dips into a curt nod before she starts walking in the opposite direction Susan came from, looking back over her shoulder when she hears the reporter call out to her. “Who’s the Arrow to you,” Susan asks, brows furrowed.

“No one,” Charlotte answers honestly because she doesn’t know the Arrow, she knows the man and the hero he has the potential to become. “It’s an old-fashioned notion, but I still believe in heroes. I think this city needs to believe in them too,” She shrugs and then she’s walking away again, “Have a good day, Ms. Williams.”

 

* * *

 

Susan Williams’ doesn’t let Charlotte, or the Arrow, down. She breaks the story on the 6 o’clock news and it’s all the city talks about for days afterward, then the people of the city stand together, united, just like her father always hoped, and demands the SCPD withdraws the order to kill on sight and dismantle the anti-vigilante task-force.

Roy Harper’s never arrested, and he doesn’t leave Starling City, but her father does.

Thea Queen’s attacked in her loft ( _the news doesn’t report by who, just that she’s been hospitalized, but Charlotte knows the blame lays at the feet of Ra’s al Ghul_ ) but she’s back on her feet and seen around the city within two weeks. Her brother, however, is nowhere to be seen because Oliver Queen has apparently left Starling City.

Charlotte wishes she could have saved her father from the hellish weeks he spends with the League ( _Charlotte remembers how, even years later, her father would wake up screaming after a nightmare about the fall and the League and Ra’s_ ) but there are some events that she cannot change. Her father joining the League, then ultimately deciding that he wants to leave the city and build a life with Felicity Smoak, his _always_ , is one event that she cannot alter.

Still, it breaks her heart to watch the way her loved ones mourn Oliver Queen, especially when she sees the dark circles that form beneath Roy’s eyes. He’s been burning the candles at both ends since they lost Oliver, trying to fill her father’s shoes by taking on the one role he’s never wanted: The Arrow.

Just liked he promised all those months ago after the city came together and defeated Brick, the Arrow doesn’t leave, but Charlotte knows these past few weeks it has been Roy Harper hunting criminals in the green hood, just like she knows it’s Thea Queen that now wears the red suit and calls herself Arsenal.

Charlotte’s working at the bar when Team Arrow trudges up the stairs from the foundry beneath Verdant. Team Arrow’s exhausted and they settle around one of the table, worn and weary in a way she recognizes all too well. It’s been a long night for them. Channel 7 News has been reporting on the hostage situation at the stadium ever since it broke out. Laurel’s practically asleep at the table, her face resting against her fist, and Felicity’s devouring the bowl of pretzels as she leans against Digg.

Charlotte flashes them a small smile that widens when she sees the casual way Roy throws his arm around Thea. He’s whispering something in her ear, probably something positively _dirty_ based on the pink stain that flushes across Thea’s cheeks, and then Thea’s looking up at Roy, her mouth quirking into a smile Charlotte only ever remembers being aimed at her Uncle Roy.

It’s so small a thing, but it soothes an ache in Charlotte’s heart.

Saving Roy Harper, making it so he never has to leave Starling, just reaffirms that things can be changed.

Charlotte’s pouring a line of shots when Roy presses a kiss to his girlfriend’s head and approaches the bar, offering Charlotte a small wave. She nods in greeting. “Give me a second, Boss-Man,” She shouts so she can be heard over the pounding music, and Roy gestures that it’s fine.

Roy leans against the bar and a couple minutes later she sidles over to his end of the bar, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” Charlotte teases, “And Roy Harper walks into mine.” Her brows furrow then and she backtracks, her mother’s familiar babble tumbling from her mouth when she adds, “Well, actually, it’s not mine. Obviously. It’s yours more so than mine. And I guess whisky or tequila would be more apt since you I’ve never seen you order gin,” She finishes.

Roy stares at her, obviously recognizing the familiar babble, but then he laughs the way he used to (or will?) after she babbled as a child, right before he smiled, like she surprised it out of him. “Wow,” He exhales, almost a laugh, then he slides onto an open stool.

“Sorry,” Charlotte winces, “Sometimes my mouth runs away from me. How can I be of service?” Roy looks like he swallowed a bug and Charlotte’s face floods with heat. Because she’d said— She’d said _how can I be of_ — Oh, God. “No!” she says, eyes wide, shaking her head. ”No, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t,” Roy interrupts and he looks pain, “ _Please_.”

She nods, her cheeks heating up again with embarrassment. 

He shakes his head. “I’ll take a club soda, two Martinis, a beer,” Roy says and she nods jerkily. She knows that the club soda is for Laurel, and the Martinis are for her mother—( _no, no, no, she’s Felicity, not mom. Not mom._ )—and Aunt Thea—( _no, no, no, Thea, Boss-Lady, not Aunt Thea. Not Aunt Thea._ )—and the beer is for Digg. Then Roy adds, “And I’ll have whiskey.”

She nods and pours him a shot and, when she slides it across the counter, Roy doesn’t hesitate, just takes the two fingers and throws back, savoring the burn as it goes down his throat. “Damn,” Charlotte says, impressed, “That bad of a day, huh? And does it matter what kind of beer?”

“It was just long,” Roy admits, then says, “And whatever’s on tap is fine.”

Charlotte nods and works in silence, making the drinks, then she places Digg’s beer on the tray of drinks and holds it out to Roy. “Your drinks, Boss-Man,” Roy’s mouth quirks into a small, tired smile and then he murmurs his thanks and heads back towards the table and she can’t make herself look at him as he walks away.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks.

Twenty-one insufferably long days later and it’s a brave new world.

Starling City has suffered its third attack in as many years and Oliver Queen returned to Starling City ( _that has since been renamed Star City in honor of the presumed dead Ray Palmer_ ) only to leave the city again thirty-six hours later with Felicity Smoak. Team Arrow is understaffed ( _Roy’s under the green hood, Thea’s under the red, and Laurel’s finally come into her own as the Black Canary, while Digg tries to fill the void left by his two best friends_ ) which means it’s time for Charlotte to start phase two of her plan.

_‘The less they know about the future, the better.’_

_‘But what if they find out who I really am?’_

_‘They won’t. Not if you stick to your cover story; not if you can pass yourself off as another vigilante.’_

Charlotte exhales slowly and stares at her reflection. Dark leather clings to her body and the Sai blades are a familiar, comforting weight in her hands. “It’s time to get to work,” She murmurs, staring down at the black mask in her hands, then she presses it into place before she slips out into the darkness.

It’s time to get Team Arrow’s attention.

TBC.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, my computer gave me the blue screen of death and I lost portions of this story and I was so mad that I didn't want to look at it, but I figured I'd kept this update from you long enough. This chapter is mostly set-up and I'm sorry for that, but it had to happen. 
> 
> Reviews feed my muse. : )


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